


ACOTAR Role Reversal AU Part 3

by ink_like_starlight



Series: ACOTAR Role Reversal AU [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOTAR Role Reversal AU, ACOTAR role reversal, F/M, Human Rhysand, POV Rhysand (ACoTaR), Role Reversal, Role Reversal AU, Under the Mountain - Freeform, UtM, under the mountain reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 11:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15023237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ink_like_starlight/pseuds/ink_like_starlight
Summary: In this scene, Rhys has been dragged to another one of Feyre's parties Under the Mountain, just waiting to be called over, forced to drink that faerie wine. But he's given a chance to slip away! Rhys is reunited with Amarantha, who was able to escape Tamlin's sight. They steal a few moments inside a darkened hallway, until Feyre interrupts them.ACOTAR Under the Mountain Reunion scene (pages 376-386)ACOTAR heavily, heavily, heavily, heavily referenced.





	ACOTAR Role Reversal AU Part 3

This ball was no different from the others: lights and music and that cauldron forsaken wine. Faeries sang, danced, and drank, none of them revealing even a flicker of anticipation for tomorrow’s trial—what could possibly be Rhysand’s final one. If they realized what he was capable of changing for them, for their world, they revealed none of it. Maybe they thought he’d die first.

Rhysand stood along the outskirts of the room, beyond the circles of colored light, hidden and unnoticed. He’d hoped the shadows would conceal how much the slip of gossamer at his waist displayed. He was painted in the usual manner: black thorned vines curving along his skin, with a triangle of stars centered on his chest, branding him as Night Court property— _her_ property. Feyre lounged on a loveseat in the corner of his sight, two broadly shouldered faeries feeding and massaging her. She’d been taking longer than usual to call him.

He didn’t bother searching out anyone else. Jurian never spoke to him, Tamlin could cease to exist for all he cared, and Amarantha… he’d found it difficult to look at her in recent days.

It couldn’t come soon enough, Feyre’s call for him. He wanted the wine to bring him through the night, to his awaiting fate. Rhysand was so focused on anticipating her order that he didn’t notice the figure standing beside him until a warm hand brushed his arm.

Rhysand stiffened when he recognized her smell, the pace of her breath, the feel of her skin on his, however brief. He didn’t risk turning towards Amarantha. They went unnoticed for the time being. The past few days’ memories when Amarantha had refused to react to him vanished. For those precious few seconds, Rhysand was reminded that joy existed.

And as quickly as it had come, the light vanished. Amarantha strolled off. Just before the crowd swallowed her, she crooked a finger at her side. Rhysand understood immediately, spotting a door nearly obscured by a wall-hanging that probably led to a servant's passage. Amarantha slipped through and, a few minutes later, Rhysand detached from the wall and followed.

His heart pounding harder with every step, he took a slightly altered route towards the door. Dodging Feyre’s notice was easy, as she was still occupied by her servants. Their distraction wouldn’t last much longer, but a single private moment with Amarantha would be enough.

The door cracked open silently at his touch and Rhysand snuck inside. Everything was dark. He barely noticed the flash of red-gold hair before Amarantha slammed into him. Their lips met in a hot, crushing dance. Rhysand’s tongue pushed its way into her mouth, his hands roaming her skin, gathering the fabric of her skirt high. Her hands made quick work of the gossamer at his waist. He relished the moan that escaped from her lips as he pinched her nipple. Amarantha hooked a leg around his middle. Rhysand responded, pressing her against the wall. Her hips ground desperately into his, eliciting a deep groan from the back of his throat.

They couldn’t be close enough. Their love was fierce, burning, wild. They were a mess of limbs and sweat and breaths. He wanted her—now.

Someone coughed. “How awkward,” Feyre chimed. They whirled to see her, just barely visible lounging against the wall. She stood behind them, though, further from the door rather than closer to it. With that magic of hers, she’d probably walked through the very walls. “I mean for you two, of course.” She sauntered toward them. Rhysand tightened his hold on Amarantha. “Look at how you’ve dirtied my doll,” Feyre said, mock concern dripping from her words. “It’s a shame, really, how much Jurian will have to pay for your little bout of entertainment tonight. He still has one eye to lose.”

Slowly, Amarantha unraveled herself from Rhysand’s embrace, straightening the straps of her dress, dragging a hand through her hair.

“So I see you haven’t completely lost your senses.” Smiling, Feyre flicked her wrist in Amarantha’s direction and the black paint—the paint that _was_ on Rhysand—vanished. “Now, get out.”

Amarantha’s eyes flickered to Rhysand’s. She whispered, “I love you,” and walked out.

Rhysand blinked against the light that flooded the room as she left. It was only moments before they were alone in the darkness. From her place across the hall Feyre said softly, “You have no idea what you were risking.”

“It’s my life to risk.” Rhysand was glad for the anger steadying his voice. “I’m not your slave, Feyre.”

In a few strides, Feyre closed the space between them. Her hand slammed against the wall, a hair’s width from his face. She leaned in. “You’re a fool, Rhysand.” He could have sworn claws made of pure shadow dug into the wall beside him. Phantom wings erupted behind her. Her eyes burned with something he couldn’t place. But her voice remained deathly cold. “If Tamlin had found you two here, I can’t even say what he would do. Amarantha may refuse to love him, but he keeps her chained to the throne beside him. She’s a trophy, one he hopes to break someday. It’s a hobby of his—breaking our kind.” Rhysand remained silent. “You should thank the cauldron Jurian’s delightful brothers weren’t watching you,” she said, breathing uneven.

“And why do you care?” he snarled back.

“Why do I care?” she repeated, those claws crumbling the stone. “Why do _I_ care?”  


End file.
